Hunted [Wild Hunt Series: 1]

21: Bait

The more steps a plan requires to go right, the more likely it is to fail. If you happen to require an outside factor to go your way, you're screwed. In the massive forest where we were prey masquerading as predators, those odds of success versus failure seemed somehow bleaker. I didn't want to rely on luck or chance, even if I knew we couldn't succeed without some degree of both.

Dakota and I had to do everything in our power to minimize risk, maximize reward, and avoid getting ourselves killed—or worse—in the process.

The one thing we agreed on was that if we wanted to rescue brides from their hideous husbands, we needed to steal them. One, the lords had quite possibly centuries of experience in tracking and rounding up the ladies. Two, since I doubted the Lords would be particularly reclusive, stalking them would yield faster results than wandering aimlessly through the Malumbrian Oaks, hoping we stumble across a dame here or there. In theory, anyway.

The first night alone with Dakota, we slept on opposite sides of Shail's body even though I knew she had to be cold. We'd set up shop in a cavern near Jessie's resting place. Being so close to the falls we could shout and still hardly hear each other in the chilled damp;  there was no way my high school rival was comfortable. Still, I didn't make a big deal about sleeping on the side of the cave facing the entrance, where a thin mist from the falling water swept through at all hours. That demon blood inside of me was good for keeping out the cold, but the dewy accumulations that collected on my face come dawn were hardly pleasant, either.

We had bigger problems than that, however. The saying went, 'there's safety in numbers.' Looking at our number, two women and a cat, the confidence in such regards was extremely low. It was a miracle she'd chosen to partner up with me, when we were as chummy with each other as lions and hyenas.

Dakota didn't really like me. I didn't really like Dakota. During the night we'd disagreed half a dozen times on strategy. In the same breath, she'd accuse me of being a cow herder, then claim she was a fair huntress, what with her daddy bringing home the biggest bull moose three years in a row. Dig a big hole to trap the demon, she'd say, to which I'd point out that we lacked shovels, let alone the energy to dig the size of hole we'd need. And whose to say the demon couldn't climb out? Over Shail's back I'd hear her grumbled curses. Set a snare? We didn't have a material sturdy enough, and again, I wasn't sure that would even work on most Lords. Not to mention, what would we do once we caught him? Ask him nicely to show us where he's stashed his future fiancées?

"You know what we need?" I said as dawn turned the mist deep lavender, though the light had yet to fully penetrate our shelter. Fine water droplets collected and rolled off Shail's whiskers as the armored cat slept.

"A rifle?" Dakota hissed from the dark.

"Bait."

After a moment, the woman's blonde head bobbed into focus. In the grungy darkness, I could make out little more than a shape. "No," she said.

"I wasn't asking you bite the bullet," I said, sitting up against our narrow wall. Shail, undisturbed, continued to snooze between us. "I'll do it."

Dakota laughed, a high, pleasant sound that made me more annoyed than relaxed. "It's obviously going to be me, unless you let me tie Jessie up somewhere." She paused. "Actually, that's a grand idea. We'll check her in the morning. If her gut hasn't swelled to the size of Texas, I don't see why we can't prop her up. Dab on a little clay for some makeup and call it a day."

"If she doesn't look that dead, that might mean she isn't," I hissed, glaring at the spot I figured was her head. "Leave her out of this."

"Well," the woman sniffed, "I don't hear a safer choice coming from you."